hospital

It was an early Sunday morning in July. Most of the family was still in bed. I was on the computer Googling “names meaning eagle” and hoping no one would come down the stairs and see what I was doing.

I felt rather silly, looking up baby names. I was 41. I already had 9 beautiful children. I had no reason to think that I would ever be blessed with another one. I would say from time to time, “I think I would like to have a baby in my 40s.” My husband would always respond, “You’re crazy.”

I felt a little crazy just then, but I felt compelled to do it. I just had to know what names were out there that meant “eagle.” Over the past few years God had used many amazing encounters to convince me that I was meant to be an eagle. I was beginning to let go of who I thought I was (a quiet girl who was deathly afraid of heights) and believe who God made me to be.

I found many names that fit the bill. However, I needed an “A” name for a girl and a “C” name for a boy to follow the pattern of all our other children. I could find no suitable boy name, try as I might! A girl’s name struck me as though it were jumping off the computer screen .

Aria Iolani

Aria:

Hebrew from Ariel – lion or lioness of God

Italian – air, melody

Sanskrit and Persian – noble, honorable

Teutonic – intelligence of an eagle

Iolani (ee-oh-lahn-ee):

Hawaiian – hawk of royalty, bird of heaven, to soar like an eagle

How perfect! How beautiful! A dream had been planted in my heart; a tiny seed carrying the perfect name. A dream that I would one day have a daughter who would bear this name. A daughter who would have the vision and intelligence of an eagle. A daughter who would know her identity from the womb. She would not have to live 40 years on the ground before it began to dawn on her…she was meant to FLY!

A few months later, in December, I found that I was pregnant. The revelation came at a time I didn’t expect. It didn’t seem like the right time for another baby. But …perhaps this dream in my heart had been a dream in God’s heart all along. Perhaps now was THE TIME!

My oldest daughter, Areli, loved the girl’s name I had found! The boys did not like it, mostly because they wanted the baby to be a boy. Chris liked the named “Aria” but wasn’t sure about “Iolani.” It was too hard for him to remember and pronounce correctly, and he thought it would difficult for others as well.

I checked out a bunch of books from the library about Hawaii since Areli was planning on going there for school in the next year or so. I discovered that there is an Iolani Palace in Hawaii, the only royal palace in the United States. That settled it. “Iolani” was THE middle name!

I was excited but told myself that this baby could easily be a boy. Soon sickness and other pregnancy discomforts (that I had never experienced before) came upon me. The dream of “Aria Iolani” was still a lovely thought, but it was overpowered by the thoughts of a victim pleading for release from her prison. I understood that all that was going on in my spirit was being experienced by my baby’s spirit as well. I tried to be thankful and upbeat. I tried to speak over my baby love and peace and truth. Half the time I doubted the truth myself. That God really loved me and that someday I would feel good again.

Many fears started to plague my mind. What if there was something wrong with this baby? What if there was something wrong with my body? And the worst fear of all, what if this child had a chromosomal abnormality like Ashlyn had? I love Ashlyn and I am still amazed that God would trust us with such a special child. Still, I always thought that having two special children would be absolutely too much to handle, and I would break under the strain of it. With each pregnancy there has been a small chance, and each time this fear rears its ugly head. This pregnancy the fear was worse than usual, almost suffocating me at times.

I didn’t go to church for two months. Finally I was feeling well enough to go to a Sunday morning service. As I entered the balcony of the sanctuary, I heard the Helsers leading worship. I felt the sweet presence of God, and I longed to linger there forever! They were singing, “Mt. Zion.”

We have come to Mount Zion

City of the living God

Heavenly Jerusalem

By his blood we have come

I felt God’s presence. I felt peace and joy. I felt safety and security. The fears dissipated. Hope started rising. This is where I should have been living this whole time. This is where I wanted my baby to live, even in the womb. I felt sad that I had been such a bad mother so far. I had tried to abide in the presence of God in my own home. But most of the time I just felt sick and discouraged.

Here at church I could feel His presence, as though Mount Zion was a reality I was dwelling in. The song continued:

Thousands of angels dance around his throne

Thousands more sing out new songs

And elders throw their crowns down

As all of heaven sings out

“Baby, this is where you are to live all the time,” I told the precious little one.

“I know, mama.”

I heard a sweet little girl’s voice say these words. At least I thought it sounded like a girl. I knew it was my baby. This was very unexpected and unusual. It wasn’t said in a sassy voice as if to imply that I was being dumb for thinking my baby didn’t already know this.

It was said in a comforting voice as if to say, “Mama, you worry too much. I am just fine. I just recently came to you from heaven. I could see those angels in person, and I can see them still. I am still surrounded by His presence.”

I felt more at peace than I had in a long time. My baby was more aware of spiritual realities than I was. She was most definitely an amazing child. I began to remember all the fears I had confronted during previous pregnancies. One by one those fears had fallen by the wayside, replace by peace. Almost across board just the opposite had proven to be true.

I didn’t need to worry about this baby’s health, well-being, or intelligence. She (or possibly he, I had to remind myself) was extraordinary…a super baby! She (or he) had just spoken to me from the womb for goodness sake!

On March 30th we had an ultrasound that revealed a perfect and beautiful baby girl! My dream was growing inside me.

Aria Iolani

About four weeks before my due date, Aria dropped. She was sitting low and I was uncomfortable.

“At least she is head down and in the right position. She is getting ready to be born, and it won’t be long now,” I thought.

Each week she dropped a little lower. Each week I was more uncomfortable. I kept having signs that labor was near, but no real labor would come. The last week, each day felt exponentially worse than the day before. My due date, August 16th came and went, and Aria became my first baby that was actually late.

Finally my water broke the night of August 17th. The next day labor still had not started, but my homebirth midwife came over to check on me. I was already dilated to 5 cm and Aria was at +3 station. The midwife said that babies normally are not that low unless the mom was already in labor. We both thought that once labor started, Aria would be born quickly. We were wrong.

Labor finally began around 3pm on August 18th but it progressed very slowly. I was listening to worship music, scriptures, and birth affirmations. I was enjoying God’s presence. He was speaking to me and showing me visions of Himself. Before I knew it, it was evening. I didn’t feel like I was in transition even though I was dilated to 10.

Then it got difficult. I never really had a difficult labor, so it was a new experience. Aria was so close to being born, yet she wasn’t being born! I am sure it was difficult for her too, but her heart-rate remained steady. Finally after an ambulance ride, an epidural, Pitocin, and some sleep; Aria supernaturally came into the outside world at 2:33 am on August 19, 2018. I felt no pain and consciously did nothing at all.

I simply slept and prayed, “Jesus, you do this because I can’t.”

I woke up to the slightest bit of pressure. My midwife looked under my covers to see that Aria’s head was crowning!

She was born quickly and placed in my arms. The rest of the room faded away. There was only my baby.

Aria Iolani

She was beautiful and peaceful. I noticed her eyes first. They were open wide and moving slowly back and forth, scanning and taking it all in. To me they looked like the eyes of an eagle.

She is now six weeks old. Aria had not been as sleepy as my other newborns. She is more alert and her eyes are always looking.

The midwife saw her at three weeks and said, “She seems more like a 6 week old that a 3 week old.” At 3 ½ weeks she began to really look at our faces and smile! The most adorable smile.

Not all is prefect of course. My recovery had been much slower this time. Aria finds it hard to just fall asleep, and she spends a good amount of time crying when she is tired. She also had the worst case of thrush I have ever seen. Then came the baby acne.

But when I nurse her and look at her baby face, I am so thankful for the chance to have her as a daughter, my 10th child.

What a rare and precious jewel. When I prayed for her during my difficult pregnancy, God showed me so clearly that Aria is vitally important – to this family, to this world, and to eternity. She was not an extra baby or an optional baby. She NEEDED to be here. Just like every single baby ever to be conceived.

Of course to me Aria is amazing! Brilliant, observant, and born to fly.

Aria Iolani

A dream come true.

Share this:

Like this:

In November my mom started acting strangely. We were all together for Thanksgiving, but she wasn’t herself. The children haven’t seen their grandma since that day.

Since then, Mom has been in and out of 4 different hospitals. Her mental and physical state has fluctuated wildly. I have long since lost count of how many doctors, nurses, physician’s assistants, and social workers I have talked to. None of them could tell me why this was happening or how exactly they planned on fixing it. The plans were not so much focused on bringing abundant health, but more on stabilizing her. And the plans changed almost daily.

I would visit mom when I could. None of the hospitals were places that I enjoyed spending several hours in, let alone weeks at a time. Stark, barren, clinical. Very little that was cheery or beautiful to look at. Very little to do. No fresh air or access to the outdoors. Mom and I were both dreaming of a better environment in which she could convalesce.

When I was in my mom’s house one day, collecting some clothes to bring to her, I notice this pretty decoration.

It was the stone that she had received at our church on Mother’s Day. It carried a message that I hoped would be true for her life. I prayed that she could have a fresh start.

It was finally decided that she was stable enough to be released to assisted living. Mom and I were both so excited! I had found a lovely, friendly place that would become her new home. It had a large “apartment” for her. It had a nice dining room and common area with a fire-place and piano. It had a courtyard where she could do some gardening.

I prepared for her to be transferred. I gathered necessary and homey items from her house. When I was out shopping I found this little sign and thought it would give Mom a positive message to look at, day after day, in her new room.

I was hoping that it would give her comfort when she felt the pain of what she had lost. I prayed it would give her hope in the difficult days of transition.

It really could be possible that once Mom adjusts to her new home, meets new friends, and participates in new activities, she will be happier than before. Perhaps with the burden of taking care of her home and herself is lifted, she will feel a sense of freedom. Maybe her loneliness will fade away and she will enjoy life afresh! Perhaps God will draw her to himself like never before and will make her Valley of Trouble into a Door of Hope (Hosea 2:15).

I was sure praying that all of that would be true, but I felt worried too. Was it too much to ask for? Too much to expect?

I found out on Friday that the Assisted Living Home couldn’t take her until Monday. My heart dropped. Another weekend in that boring hospital with the screaming lady right down the hall.

“Oh well, God, work all these things for Mom’s good,” I prayed.

I got busy putting together all the details. I compiled stacks of paperwork. I worked on checklist after checklist. I wrote everything important on the calendar for Monday to be sure I wouldn’t forget. As I was writing on the little square that represented March 20th, 2017, I realized that I was writing around the words that were preprinted there…

First Day of Spring!

My heart leapt! My eyes filled with tears of joy! Even though the delay seemed like a trial, it was God’s plan all along. His plan was good. His plan was full of Hope. His plan was for a Fresh Start!

Will you all pray for my Mom? For abundant health and life? For a heart after God? For an awareness of God’s goodness? For a recognition of all His good gifts He gives her with each new day? For a Fresh Start and a Spring Season?

Like this:

When I was pregnant with my first baby, I read every parenting magazine I could get my hands on. Each one contained an article about SIDS, the silent and mysterious killer of babies. What could be more terrifying to a new mother than a condition that she could neither predict nor understand? What was a concerned parent to do to protect her child? Simple. Place the baby on her back to sleep.

The doctors and nurses in the hospital had me so paranoid about sudden infant death syndrome, that I religiously complied with their back to sleep recommendation. If I couldn’t hear Areli while she slept, I would check on her. The first few times she slept through the night, I would wake up almost in a panic, wondering if she was still alive. When she was a few months old and sleeping in her own room, I would wake up in the middle of the night and worry about whether she was ok. I would slip out of bed to check on her, because if I waited until morning, it might be too late. Finally, after this happened several times, I decided that I was being ridiculous. I could not worry constantly about her safety! I would drive myself insane! I decided to pray a simple prayer instead.

“Please, Holy Spirit, protect my baby. Wake me up and tell me if there is something wrong with her. Make sure I am there if she needs me.”

The Holy Spirit did wake me up one night. It was still and quiet and I found myself in the hallway. I don’t even know why I was there. I became aware of a strange odor and followed it into Areli’s room. Areli, the sweet baby that she was, must have felt sick, quietly vomited in her crib, and then curled up in the only clean spot left. She was fast asleep! I cleaned everything and put her back to bed, so thankful that she didn’t have to stay in that state until morning.

I still put Areli on her back to sleep, but as soon as she learned how to roll over, she would choose to sleep on her belly every time.

When my second baby was born, I also put him on his back to sleep. I was a bit more relaxed, having seen one baby safely to toddlerhood. Cole just was not a good sleeper. He was restless and fitful. Friends of ours returned from a class they had just attended at the Institute for the Achievement of Human Potential in Philadelphia. They shared with us what the Institute thought about the Back to Sleep Campaign. The entire campaign had been based on a fairly small study that they considered to be very flawed (grouping infants who had been crushed under sleeping parents with the belly sleepers). Sure, a baby sleeping in a bed surrounded by blankets and pillows and other people may be in danger of suffocation, but what did that have to do with belly sleeping?

The Institute noted how there is not a single animal that sleeps on its back. Why is that? Because there is no protection and no function. All animals naturally prefer the belly down position and babies are no different. They feel more secure, more comfortable, and what’s more, they develop faster. They build their muscles and achieve their developmental milestones faster. The Institute not only suggested that all babies sleep on their bellies, but that they also spend most of their waking hours that way as well. In fact, if you wanted a physically and intellectually superior child, you could build him a crawling track and allow him to sleep in it (and be awake in it as well) to encourage crawling which stimulates the brain. Babies are able to start belly crawling immediately after birth and should be allowed to do so. We observed this first hand when we put Cadin on the floor to sunbathe when he was just a few days old. We let him sleep there for a few hours and he crawled halfway across the room!

“A floor equals civilization,” they would say. This means that any culture that has floors safe enough to place their babies on, would develop a written language and higher math skills. Cultures that could not allow their babies time on the floor, such as some American Indians and primitive tribes in Africa and South America, stayed more…well…primitive. In these cultures, mom would carry her baby tightly wrapped up on her back because it wasn’t safe or efficient to put them down. This allowed the babies little opportunity to move, roll over, scoot, or crawl. They became brilliant craftsman and hunters but never developed a written language or higher math skills. We need to be careful that we don’t adopt a more modern version of this method of child rearing; restricting our baby’s movements and development using baby slings, baby swings, exer-saucers, and car seats.

To learn more about the amazing programs and results of the Institute, read How to Multiply your Baby’s Intelligence and How to Teach Your Baby to be Physically Superb (or the updated version Fit Baby, Smart Baby, Your Baby). I love these books and have used many of their techniques with most of my babies. The old pictures in the Physically Superb book are Matthew and Carol Newell with their young child. I worked with Matthew and Carol when I took Ashlyn (my special needs daughter) to the Family Hope Center, which they started. By that time their son had graduated from college, and they reported that he had amazing grades, was a Shakespearian actor and a triathlete. I know that this is a bit off topic, but I find brain development to be fascinating.

Once I heard the viewpoint of the Institute, I decided to try it. As soon as I turned Cole on his belly to sleep, he immediately slept better. His sleep was longer and more peaceful. He was also able to get rid of gas by pulling his knees up and let out little baby toots. My fear of belly sleeping was officially gone. Since then, I have laid all of my babies on their bellies to sleep, and they all have been very happy that way. Of course I made sure that there was nothing else in the bed with them and that their sheets were fitted tight around the mattress.

My opinion of the Back to Sleep Campaign is that it is very similar to most of the campaigns launched by the medical community – propaganda based more in emotions (usually fear) that in real science. If you would like to read more in depth about this subject with specific studies, Click here. I was notified of an excellent article that offers real answers to crib death and real prevention that has been 100% effective in preventing crib death in New Zealand; Has the Cause of Crib Death Been Found?

Parents, you do not have to live in fear that SIDS might claim the life of your precious child! Only God knows the plans he has for your child, only God knows the number of his days. Yes, some babies do die unexpectedly, and it is always sad. The number is really very small, only around .06% of all babies. I believe that there is a reason for those deaths; theories include vaccinations, second hand smoke, toxins in the mattress, bacteria, or a toxic overload of many things at once. I do not believe it is caused by a baby sleeping on his belly. I am not saying that you SHOULD put your baby on his belly to sleep. I am simply giving you the FREEDOM to do so if you want to. (I also hope you have the freedom to question what health care professionals and the media tell you.)

So parents everywhere, pray over your little ones. Put their lives into God’s loving hands. Ask him for the wisdom to eliminate dangers and bring peace into your home. And enjoy a good night’s sleep, free from fear!

Share this:

Like this:

As a young girl, I read that one out of every ten babies in the United States was born by C-section. I remember thinking, “If I have ten children, I will probably have a C-section in my lifetime.” But who really has ten children anyway? So I dismissed it as a very unlikely possibility. Despite the fact that cesareans have become more and more common (one out of every three births), I estimated that my chances were dropping. I was healthy and strong, educated in natural childbirth. I had beautiful, easy deliveries…eight of them! Although theoretically, I knew that anything can happen in this life, and I was not exempt from the risks of childbearing, I never thought it would happen to me.

I was so excited to be pregnant with my ninth child. I became even more excited when I found out that it was a girl! I had longed for a girl for so long, that I had almost given up. I felt the overwhelming joy of a dream come true. Yet along with it came a suffocating fear.

I had never before worried about the life of any my unborn babies. I just loved them, prepared a room for them, and anticipated a future for them. Yet this time I began to wonder if my preparations were in vain. What if I never got to hold my baby girl in my arms? What if I never got to dress her in all the pretty clothes? What if the sweetness and the tenderness of who she was, left my life forever?

I didn’t speak of these thoughts. If I uttered them out loud, they might become more real. Finally one night I tried to explain it to my husband, and I began to cry. Why was I crying? The baby was healthy and moving around in my belly. This had been my easiest pregnancy yet. There was no reason to worry.

“I think you have fear with this baby because she is so connected to the promises of God,” Chris said. At that instant I realized that it was true. We had already named her Annalise Promise which means “Oath of God” and “Graced with God’s Bounty.” Her name was a sign to us that we would be entering a season of promises fulfilled, promises for abundance. We had always prayed for that season. We had been looking for it ever since we had gotten married, straining our eyes across the horizon for any sign that the prosperity might be on its way. We felt deep in our bones that God meant for us to have more than enough of everything we needed, everything our children needed. Yet we hadn’t been able to live in that prosperity, cycling between the highs of great opportunities and the lows of dashed dreams.

Now we were having a girl whose very name meant the Boundless Generosity of God, and I was terrified that I would never be able to keep her or God’s Goodness, that both would slip through my fingers no matter how hard I tried to grasp them.

Of course I realized that God does not work that way. This fear was not from Him, yet He would take it from me, I was sure. I laid my fear at His feet and He gave me hope and joy and promises! He had me read Zephanaiah 3:14-20 over and over again. I could almost hear Him rejoicing over me with happy songs. I could feel Him hold me in his strong arms. I could sit back and watch him fight for me and gain the victory! I did not have to fear disaster! He was holding my little girl in His hands and she was safe!

My other babies were always head down in my womb, settling into a familiar position that I knew so well. But this little girl would not do that no matter how much we talked to her, coaxed her, and prayed for her. She would flip and turn and end up in all sorts of positions.

I was becoming quite nervous about her position as I headed into week 37. Our whole family had been hoping for an Easter baby which was only days away, yet Annalise was still not head down. I would lay in bed at night, tired yet unable to sleep. My belly was so big, I found it hard to breath. I could feel her do flips inside of me.

“I think we need to get another ultrasound to check on your placenta. If it is too low, that may be why the baby is not able to descend.” Mary, my midwife said as I was getting close to 38 weeks.

I had no intention of getting another ultrasound, but the night before Chris had expressed concern about the same issue. I felt peaceful that Annalise was safe and sound in God’s hands, but for Chris’ peace of mind, I agreed to go in and get checked. I prayed that if all was well, I would go into labor before the ultrasound. A peaceful homebirth was my heart’s desire. I would rehearse the wonder and beauty of it in my mind to cheer my weary bones. Yet I also prayed, “Don’t let me give birth at home if you want me in the hospital.”

Labor did not come and I found myself lying on a table in a darkened room. It only took the ultrasound tech a few minutes to see that placenta was covering the cervix.

“I am so sorry!” Mary said, “I know how much you wanted a home birth, but we just can’t deliver you at home. If the placenta is born first, your baby could die. You will need to choose a hospital and I suggest you go in tomorrow. It would be better to get a C-section as soon as possible so you don’t go into labor.”

I was in shock. I couldn’t believe what was happening. Yet, I knew that it was what God wanted. Otherwise He could have easily moved that placenta and brought labor on the week before. When I returned home from the ultrasound, all I could manage to do was cry. Most of my other eight children were around the house playing or doing homework after school. My oldest daughter hugged me and said, “It will be ok, Mama.”

I tried to believe her. I cried and grieved the loss of my perfect homebirth. I had wanted to be close to my other children. I had wanted a fast and easy recovery that would allow me to continue taking care of the needs of the home and homeschooling. I tried to wrap my brain around the fact that I had offered my body to God as a living sacrifice, to carry this child of promise, and He was going allow doctors to cut into me tomorrow.

The next day Chris and I began the work of getting ready to go to the hospital. As soon as Chris’ mom had heard about the situation, she had started driving to Pennsylvania from Florida. She would be able to get to our house by the evening to take care of the other children. How that eased my mind!

I sent a prayer request to all the ladies who had been to my baby shower a few weeks earlier. I also called my mom to explain the situation. She had been hoping to be at the birth, but I told her that I had to get surgery and she probably wouldn’t be able to see the baby until hours afterward. Mom happened to be at the ladies meeting at church. She stopped the meeting right then and there and asked for prayer for me!

A lovely thing began to happen. As I was trying to get ready, rushing around the house, up the stairs and down the stairs again, I started to receive emails and texts and calls from loving friends. They were praying for me and speaking encouraging words and offering help! One dear friend even prayed out loud for Annalise while I turned on the speaker phone so Annalise listen.

I was feeling an overwhelming sadness about having to endure a C-section, but I didn’t want Annalise to feel sad. I didn’t want her to feel like she was being torn from her safe haven too early or experience anguish on the day of her birth. The prayer I heard coming from the other end of my phone brought peace to my body and soul.

“Annalise will be so peaceful. It will be a sign to you.” I heard my friend pray.

Chris and I arrived at the hospital in the early afternoon. Mary was already there. It took hours for the staff to assess me and determine that the placenta was not actually covering the cervix but was dangerously close, only .9 cm away. Studies had shown that 90% of women with a marginal placenta like mine bled during labor and required an emergency C-section to save the life of the baby. Thankfully, I had not yet gone into labor and we could have a planned C-section.

It took several more hours to prep me for the C-section. During this time I felt oddly peaceful. God was in control and it was going to be ok. Finally at 8pm I was taken into the operating room where the anesthesiologist started the spinal.

“No pain. You will feel no pain, only pressure. No pain,” he kept saying over and over again.

I must admit that I didn’t believe him. How could I feel no pain at all during such a major surgery? Yet almost immediately, I started to lose feeling in my lower body. I started feeling woozy. My body felt so heavy. I was so tired, that I could hardly respond to the questions the nurses would ask from time to time. Before I knew it, Chris was next to me.

I heard the voice of a doctor instruct the intern on how to begin. I had never seen the doctor’s face. The intern had introduced himself and explained the entire procedure beforehand. He said he had done at least 50 to 60 C-sections in the past. He was friendly and I liked him a lot. The doctor, however, was gruff and rude to this nice intern, acting like the intern had never done a C-section before.

“NO, not like that! Not like that! Here, let me do it!” I heard from the other side of the blue curtain. I really experienced no pain at all! It was amazing to me. It almost felt like this procedure was happening to someone else. Even the abrasive voice of the doctor and the extreme pressure on my pelvic bone couldn’t bring me out of my medicated haze. But more than that, I felt the peace that surpasses understanding. I knew that God had every detail of this birth planned out for the best.

“She is almost here.” I heard Chris say with joy and excitement. I just couldn’t muster up excitement myself. I felt pushing and then a weight was lifted. I was lighter!

“She is here!” Chris said. Quickly the little bundle was taken to a table just a few yards behind me. I couldn’t see her, but I could hear her. She was crying for all she was worth! A good sound. I wanted to call out to her. I wanted her to know that I was close by, that I was so excited that she was here, but I didn’t have the energy. Someone brought her to me and placed her on my chest. She was little and perfect. I was too numb to hold her, so she was whisked away again, this time out of the operating room. Chris went with her and suddenly I was alone…so alone.

I was lying on the operation table in the middle of the large room. I was vaguely aware of nurses and doctors working to stitch me up. They were talking among themselves, but not acknowledging me. I knew that the bright lights were highlighting my nakedness and my gaping wound.

“My baby is here! She has been born!” I thought to myself. “Yet how could this really be considered her birth? I didn’t give birth. Is today really her birthday? I didn’t push her out. The doctors pulled her out. It didn’t feel like a birth.”

As these thoughts floated around in my clouded mind, sadness descended. Instead of feeling the overwhelming relief and bliss that enveloped me after the birth of my other eight children, I felt a stark and cold loneliness. I wouldn’t allow the weeping to begin. I knew it would overwhelm my consciousness. I didn’t want to meet Annalise in the recovery room with tears.

Soon I was being wheeled to where my baby was. She was placed into my arms and I got my first really good look at her. Her face was tiny and beautiful, and she was looking up at me with open eyes. So serene. So peaceful.

She was a sign to me that everything was going to be ok. I would heal. The sadness would fade. I had suffered loss, but it hadn’t been the disaster I had most feared. My little girl was safe. Safe too were all of God’s promises. Our finances were still in an unstable place. But I was certain that we would see His goodness. I was sure that Annalise would live a life marked by God’s generosity.

The bliss didn’t rush in and seep into every cell as I had hoped. It crept in slowly.

It increased slightly with every look into her eyes, every touch of her soft skin, every time she nursed.

My heart was full of sorrow and joy, but the joy would overtake and overwhelm, one miracle moment at a time.

Share this:

Like this:

My Father, George Redman Beyer, passed away last year on July 31. In honor of him, I would like to post here the words I spoke at his memorial service.

All you who knew George, whether it was for 5 minutes or fifty years, knew that he was very kind, calm, patient, slow, methodical, and very intelligent.

He loved history and could remember facts and figures with an almost photographic memory. Most of those official blue and yellow signs you see around the state of PA were written by my Dad. When I was little I couldn’t remember the name of the Pennsylvania Historical and Museum Commission, so I just told people that my Dad was a Historical Marker Maker. They gave me funny looks.

I got even stranger reactions when I told them that we were Quakers and went to Meeting instead of Church. Dad was always a man of peace. I almost never heard him criticize other people and I almost never saw him get angry.

In recent years, he had to bear with my five wild boys running around the house with nerf guns, squirt guns, and cap guns. Still he was very patient with them. He spent hour after hour after hour reading to all the grandchildren, snuggling on the sofa.

He answered question after question, read book after book. He rejoiced at the birth of every new grandchild and enjoyed them immensely.

This was an intense week for our family. Dad was sent to the emergency room on Monday with blood clots in his lungs. He stopped breathing and received CPR three times. When I saw him that evening, he was unconscious and the hospital was still trying to stabilize him. That night I prayed those deep, desperate prayers. I love it how God draws so near to me in times like these. I felt like He said to me, “This will end in death, but it is OK.” Then I saw a picture in my mind. I saw my dad as a young boy, running in the summer twilight.

He had perfect shalom, “perfect peace, nothing broken, and nothing missing.” He was running into the arms of God the Father. They both had such joy and excitement about being together.

On Tuesday the hospital thought they might be able to stabilize Dad and wake him up. Then we received a call that he had taken a turn for the worse, and we better get in there as soon as we could. Again I began praying in the car, and I was desperate with God. I said, “You can’t let him die if he’s not ready, if it is not his time. I haven’t done enough. I haven’t told him enough about you. I haven’t shown him enough love.” Again the sweet presence of God surrounded me and said, “It is already done. I have already done it all. All that is left is to trust me.”

So as we sat in Dad’s room watching him peacefully pass away, I again thought of him running into the arms of his Father. I heard the Father God say to him, “George, it doesn’t matter what you did or didn’t do in your lifetime. I want you! You are my reward; You are my pearl of great price.”

Mom told me in hospital that Dad had recently attended a conference at Life Center and loved the Song, “Abba” which means Daddy. (Click here to listen to the wonderful song.) We sang that song in Worship tonight. This confirmed to me that he had a longing in his heart to know God as his Daddy, and now his heart’s desire is fulfilled. He feels for the first time the full strength of the unconditional, all consuming love of the Father. Dad had loving parents and a loving family. Loving relationships are the joy of this life. But they are just the first morning rays of sunlight peaking over the horizon. Now he is standing in the brightness of noonday, and I am so happy for him!

I love how God gives us signs to explain what is happening in the unseen realm. He gave me a sign. My mom had transplanted lot of flowers from her yard to into my yard. The irises and hyacinths have been blooming for many years now, but I have never seen the resurrection lily. I just thought it had died, and I had forgotten about it. But the day after my Dad died, I looked out my window and I saw it blooming!